


Seeing

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the morning, there’s a faerie shivering by the teapot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightinthehall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightinthehall/gifts).



> Repost of an old giftfic from my tumblr. Based upon an old headcanon that England did pass along more than a little of his magical sight to some of his former colonies, although they have different degrees of talent, and different reasons for sometimes denying the gift.

In the morning, there’s a faerie shivering by the teapot. She’s a tiny thing – one of England’s no doubt; the fae folk don’t tend to come into the house unless Arthur’s come over for a visit, and Arthur’s faeries always gravitate towards the places Arthur will see them first: by the teapot, on the fridge-top, in the vase filled with bright flowers on the kitchen table. They all keep out of the bedroom by request and dip tiny hands into the saucer of milk and honey Arthur hides behind one curtain in the living-room that Matthew pretends he doesn’t see, drinking the sweetness and curling up in their shimmer-down clothes, the ones who are unused to Canada shivering in the winter cold.

It’s a sad thing to see, so early in the morning. Canada is still flush-warm from bed and Arthur’s body when he yawns his way downstairs into the kitchen, disentangling sheets and sleepily clinging limbs from his chest to go put the kettle on for something to drink, to wake him up so he can make breakfast. (Arthur’s internal clock will wake him up shortly enough, and past experience has taught Matthew well that it’s always best to beat England to the kitchen, especially first thing.) Kumajirou snores something like a good morning from his basket before rolling back over and under his white fluff to syrup-filled dreams  - Canada’s still smiling in fond exasperation at his long-time friend when he sees the faerie’s woeful glitter from the corner of his eye, trembling paleness against the cold counter-top that is currently her seat.

Matthew doesn’t talk to the fae folk, the spirits of his lands. He sees them, either glimmering, glowing or shadows in the woods and on walls, but never as clearly as England, never as brightly as the way Arthur describes his own folk when he draws soothing hands through Matthew’s hair, telling tales of strange otherworldly things with their stranger rules, creatures of laughing quicksilver in the dark. Canada is not England – and when Arthur goes away again (for England always has to go away) Matthew still has his own folk, his own creatures to deal with on his own. It’s something that is so much easier to do when all of Faerie thinks Matthew can’t see them at all – the folk are vivacious and vain, and prefer to acknowledge those that acknowledge them. Not seeing them keeps Matthew free of their attentions, for the most part, both good and bad, and –

And things are better that way. Safer, at least. Even if Arthur looks at him with sad eyes when he lies, or suspicious eyes when Matthew forgets and asks about tinkling laughter in the shadows (pixie-dust that’s turned England’s skin gold for the evenings Matthew lays it bare and kisses hotly down the other’s chest).

But still – the faerie. So small and cold and waiting for Arthur who’s still curled up in bed fast asleep, and Matthew’s heart goes out to her, even as he fills the kettle at the tap, setting it in its base to boil. Fetches a fluffy tea-towel to wipe some imaginary speck on the counter – and leaves it there, pointedly, not looking at the little faerie at all. Goes back to bed.

Arthur doesn’t get his tea as early as usual that morning – and Matthew doesn’t make breakfast, tugging England back into their nest of blankets when the other tries to rise to make something for them to eat. They sleep late and have brunch instead, some hours later when the house’s timed heating has kicked in and the rooms are warmer, pancakes and toast and muffins from the store that Kumajirou begs for, paws pulling at the hems of their clothes. Matthew very busily makes coffee for himself – and Arthur smiles and greets the little faerie now cuddled up close and glad to see him, the tiny glittering thing with a tea-towel blanket and a bright morning smile.

(Matthew can relate.)


End file.
